


Signed Confession

by L_Greene



Series: Petty Crimes [6]
Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_Greene/pseuds/L_Greene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't know who, but someone is definitely withholding information from us." Dinner went well, but Meyer isn't ready to accept that their job is going to be so easy. T for language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Signed Confession

**Author's Note:**

> In which I answer the question: Did Charlie sleep with A.R.?
> 
> Also: In which I get a little bit Jewish.

Meyer's never seen Charlie drunk before. Apparently, the wine with dinner was just a starting point, because the moment they arrive back in their suite, Charlie heads straight for the closest ice bucket (the ice melted during the day but some staff member came in while they were out and refilled the buckets) and pops open a bottle of champagne. "Come on, Mey!" he says happily, slurring only slightly. "Get some glasses! Drink wit' me!"

Meyer cracks a small smile and goes to the small bar area, where a row of glasses are arranged. He grabs two champagne glasses and brings them back over to Charlie, who's already taking a swig of champagne right from the bottle.

After they polish off a bottle and a half of champagne (most courtesy of Charlie, since Meyer prefers not to get drunk), Charlie collapses into the California king-sized bed in just his tuxedo pants, having stripped out of the rest of his clothes on the way to bed. Meyer laughs to himself and gathers up the rest of Charlie's tuxedo to hang up.

"Fuck that shit, Mey," Charlie mumbles. "Leave it. C'mere."

"You can wait two minutes, Charlie. I need to hang this up." Meyer ignores Charlie's protests and finishes hanging up his tuxedo before going back to the bed. "Alright, take off your pants. You're going to wrinkle them if you sleep in them," he adds at Charlie's lecherous grin.

"Sure," Charlie slurs, giving Meyer an exaggerated wink.

"Come on, Charlie, just take them off."

"You're just tryin' a' get me naked, ain't'cha?"

"If I say yes, will you take them off so I can hang them up?"

Charlie sticks out his tongue at him but wriggles out of his tuxedo pants before flinging them at Meyer. His intent was probably to hit him in the face with them, but Meyer is able to catch them and put them on a hangar to put away, so it doesn't matter. He hovers with indecision for a few moments before deciding to change into sweatpants and a T-shirt, his typical sleepwear. He'll be asleep soon anyway, and so will Charlie, he suspects.

When Meyer climbs into bed next to him, the first thing Charlie does is roll all the way across the bed and throw his arms around Meyer. "Fuck, am I glad you're back," he says, burying his face in Meyer's shoulder.

Meyer wants to laugh, but instead, he just puts his arm around Charlie and runs his fingers through his curly hair.

Charlie makes a contented humming sound and sighs. "Can't believe a week ago, I was facin' eviction," he murmurs. "Tryin' a' steal your wallet was the best decision ever."

Meyer grins and closes his eyes. "I guess your nickname makes sense." The smile fades off his face. "What was going on?"

"Mm." Charlie snuggles closer to Meyer. "Fuck, I dunno. It was fine for awhile—I lived at that apartment since 2011, y'know. An' I used to deal drugs—coke an' weed, mostly—an' I stole a bit, too, but it was all jus' for fun since I used to sell cars at this Ford dealership."

Meyer doesn't find it hard to believe that. He imagines that, if he lays on enough charm, he could probably sell anything. He has a lot of charisma, which is another thing Meyer lacks, and it's probably another reason A.R. sent both of them here instead of just one of them.

"But then the dealership closed a few months back an' this Chrysler dealership bought it an' brought all new people an' I tried to get a job wit' them but they said no. I had a little cash saved up so I was able to keep payin' some a' my bills, but I had to cut the internet an' cable, an' I been livin' off Ramen noodles for the past few months. Had to keep my phone since I started dealin' more an' I needed to stay in contact, an' pickin' pockets brought in enough to keep me afloat, but I was..." Charlie sighs. "Fuck, like almost a month behind on rent? An' then I saw this kid at a subway stop lookin' like either he's rich or his parents are, an' I decide to steal his fuckin' wallet, an' what happens? He punches me in the stomach an' says he ain't callin' the cops on my broke ass," Charlie laughs, and it takes Meyer a second to realize Charlie is talking about _him_. "An' then the crazy bastard brings me back to _his_ apartment an' gives me a hundred bucks an' about the best fuck a' my life, so a' course the moment he's asleep, I steal his fuckin' wallet, right?"

Meyer feels a strange tightness in his chest and he thinks Charlie's messing with him again, even though he can't think of any reason Charlie would _have_ to mess with him. "You don't have to lie to me, Charlie," he says with a small smile even though it almost hurts him to do so. "I already like you."

"Lie to you?" Charlie blinks, looking utterly baffled. "What're you talkin' about? What'd I lie about?"

"'About the best fuck of your life'?" Meyer prompts.

Charlie laughs, a sudden, unexpected sound. "You fuckin' idiot—you got no idea, do ya?"

"What do you mean?"

Charlie grins and shakes his head. "You were so good, you fucked your religion into me. I think I'm Jewish now."

Meyer can't help it—he bursts out laughing. It's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. He slumps back against the headboard, still running his fingers through Lucky's hair. "Well, at least you don't refer to me as your 'mattress associate,'" he half-jokes.

Charlie actually _giggles_ , turning his face into Meyer's side and laughing into the fabric of his shirt. "That's a good one. I might just start doin' that."

"Oh, my God, don't," Meyer says, practically whining, and he doesn't normally do that because he's a mature adult and mature adults don't whine, but something about Charlie's influence makes him want to be less mature. Charlie makes him laugh. Charlie is...

Well, Meyer isn't sure what Charlie is exactly, but he likes him anyway.

"You interrupted me," Charlie yawns. "I's in the middle of a story. Where was I?"

"I believe you just stole my wallet."

"Yeah, right. So I stole this little asshole's wallet, right, since I figure it's the only way I can goad him into seein' me again. An' what does he do? Tells me his boss wants to meet me. The great Arnold Rothstein wants me to come an' work for him. It's fuckin' crazy."

Meyer bites his lip, his fingers pausing for a moment before Charlie grabs his wrist. "Keep goin'," he murmurs.

"Sorry." Meyer resumes petting Charlie's hair. "So, with A.R.," he says slowly, wondering if he should even ask.

"What about him?"

A.R.'s been calling him Charlie since the second day, a change from the first day. He's pretty sure A.R. And Charlie spent more time together after Meyer went home on Thursday. Charlie told Meyer to call him Charlie, not Lucky, the second time they slept together. Meyer's tried not to think about the implications of that—it's not his business, after all, and he's not even sure how to define the fucked-up relationship they have—but right now, there's no room for anything else in his head. "Did... did you sleep with him?"

"Wait, what?" Charlie blinks up at him in genuine confusion. " _A.R._? Did _I_ sleep wit' him?"

"The second day, he was calling you Charlie, but the first day, he wasn't. You told me to call you Charlie—"

"When we fucked on the train, yeah."

"I know it's none of my business, but... I just wondered."

Charlie rubs his eyes. "Yeah, I guess I see why." He sighs. "No, Mey, I didn't fuck him, I promise. Remember how I was sayin' I was facin' eviction? Well, I mentioned it to him, an' that night, we went right to my landlord an' he paid my rent for last month, this month, an' a thirty-day notice. He said when we got back from this job, he'd find me a better apartment. But while we were talkin' to my landlord, he started callin' me Charlie since that's what my landlord was callin' me—that an' Luciano—an' I didn't bother to correct him. So he stopped callin' me Lucky on his own." Charlie grins. "Were you jealous or somethin'?"

"No," Meyer says even though he kind of was.

"It's okay, you fuckin' idiot, I get it. Don't worry—you're the only one for me," Charlie says, and even though Meyer knows he's lying again—and if not lying, then just drunk—it's still nice to hear.

For a few minutes, they both just stay there, Meyer sitting with his back to the headboard, Charlie curled up and lying at his side. Charlie's breathing is slowing and Meyer's sure he's asleep, so he starts trying to figure out how he's going to actually lie down without jostling him.

And then Charlie murmurs, "Tonight went better than I thought."

Meyer nods even though Charlie can't see it. "I agree. Although Torrio said he'd been working with Carolyn, not A.R., while she said she'd only met him once, and it was socially."

Charlie's eyes flutter open again and he blinks. "Wait, that's right. What the hell?"

"I don't know, but I think we should keep that quiet. I get the impression that A.R. doesn't know about it, but it's probably for a good reason. We need to keep watching in case Torrio tells us any more."

"I don't understand why people can't just talk to each other. What's she hidin'?"

Meyer just shakes his head. "There's definitely something going on. What that could be, I have no idea. But someone is definitely withholding information from us."

"Who? A.R.? Carolyn? Torrio?"

"All of them, maybe." Meyer sighs. "But for right now, we need to give them the idea that we've accepted everything they've told us at face value."

"You mean playin' dumb."

"Essentially, yes."

Charlie grins. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's bein' stupid. I'll just keep my mouth shut."

"Unless Big Jim wants to speak Italian with someone," Meyer points out.

Charlie scoffs. "That was nothin'."

"I wouldn't be so sure. He and Torrio warmed up to us after you introduced yourself. The Italians are powerful here. I think A.R. sent us here together on purpose."

Charlie's quiet for a few moments. "An' Capone did say he don't like doin' business wit' Jews."

"So I can only assume that Torrio harbors a little of that prejudice as well."

"But he seemed okay wit' you at the end a' dinner."

"Yes, but that could have easily just been the alcohol. I'm not going to believe it was that easy to win them over."

" _You_ were," Charlie says with a grin, and Meyer raises an eyebrow.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really?" Charlie asks, his grin widening. "Then what was up wit' you bringin' me home that first day? You liked me right from the beginnin'."

Damn Charlie for being right. Meyer's surprised yet again by how perceptive Charlie actually is, even when drunk. He doesn't get enough credit for being intelligent—maybe not school-smart, but Meyer's met high school dropouts with more common sense than college professors, and he knows which of the two types he'd rather have on his side. "I wasn't about to make a million-dollar deal with you, though, was I?" Meyer counters.

"You are now." Charlie tightens his arms around Meyer's waist for a minute. "So why'd you do it, anyway?"

"Do what?"

"Even offer me that hundred bucks in the first place. You didn't have to, but you did."

Meyer sighs. He has to admit that a lot of it was the initial attraction between them—he'd felt it, and for some reason, Charlie had felt it, too—but that alone wasn't what caused it. Even though he pretty much only goes to services on the high holy days anymore and isn't really _religiously_ Jewish, he's still _ethnically_ Jewish, and despite any legal gray area his business with Rothstein falls under, he still believes in a few things. " _Mitzvah_."

"Say what?"

"It's... it literally means 'command,' but it's basically a religiously-motivated good deed."

"So charity, basically."

"Basically."

Charlie grins and shakes his head. "An' here I was, thinkin' you just thought I was hot."

"Well, that had to do with it, too. Even though I knew you were still playing me."

"Not as much as you'd think. I definitely couldn't have afforded bail if you called the cops on me."

"I suppose it's a good thing I didn't, then."

Charlie doesn't say anything for awhile, and again, Meyer thinks he's finally fallen asleep. It's close to midnight and he's exhausted—it's been a long day.

"What'd you do wit' the gun I gave you?" Charlie mumbles.

"Still in the holster, hanging up in the closet."

"Mm. If you get up before me, remember to hang the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door."

Meyer rolls his eyes but smiles. "Sure thing, Charlie."

"I'm too tired right now, but once I get some sleep, first thing in the mornin', you better be ready to get ravished."

Meyer actually laughs now, so hard that his head smacks into the headboard. "Sure thing, Charlie," he chokes out.

Charlie tugs him down by his T-shirt and kisses him. "Get some sleep, Jew-boy. You're gonna need it."

Still laughing, Meyer scoots down under the covers with Charlie's arms still wrapped around him. Sounds of traffic are coming in through the windows, but it sounds like home, especially with Charlie lying next to him, and falls asleep faster than he expects.


End file.
